


Primum Non Nocere

by Rivethart



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: ALL THE ANGST, Angst, Boatloads of angst, Depressing as hell, Depression, Feels, Gen, Genocide Run, Multiple Deaths, Suicide, Timeline Shenanigans, Too many feels, True Pacifist Run, accidental assisted suicide, pacifist run, so many feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:22:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 13,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivethart/pseuds/Rivethart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's killed you 518 times. </p><p>What's one more?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Just Desserts

                You deserved this.

                _156_.

                You _deserved_ this.

                _157._

                You **_deserved_** this.

                _158._

                You **_deserved_** this.

                159.

                160.

                161.

                162.

                163.

                It was **_all_** you deserved.

                164.

                165.

                It was all you would **_ever_** deserve.

                166.

                176.

                183.

                197.

                200.

                300.

                400.

 

* * *

 

                “Yeesh kid, you’re really enjoying this, huh?” Sans rocked back on his heels, hands in his pockets as always, as he watched you catch your breath. It wasn’t going very well – it was hard to breath with thick, razor-sharp bones piercing your chest, tearing your lungs to shreds and propping you up, saving you from slumping on the dirty ground. You glowered at him, body aching as what felt like a thousand fire ants bit at your skin. “How many times have we fought? Five?”

                You spat blood to the gold-tiled floor and gave him a wolfish grin, full of every bit of hatred you could gather. Not hatred at _him_ , of course – he was just doing his job. No, all of this hatred was for yourself, your actions, your past run, your dust-covered hands, your bloody body, you. Just you. “Five _hundred_.”

                Sans whistled, impressed, and moved to stand closer. The knife had fallen from your hand when his sneak attack had struck, and he kicked it away with a swift motion that still managed to seem lazy. “ _Five hundred_. Yeesh,” he repeated. “You going for some kind of record, kid? Or do you just like seeing me work this hard?”

                You don’t respond – everything in the room has become all slip-slidey and your thoughts are fuzzing up terribly and you want nothing more than to drop your head and slump your shoulders and uncurl your hands and _let go_.

                “Really, kid. Five hundred. You should just _give up_ and _stay dead_.”

                The bones slid farther into your body as you gave in, gravity pulling your corpse down. Sans watched, dispassionate, as you died for the five hundredth time.

 

* * *

 

                “So why are you doin’ this?”

                Sans has you pinned down, though your HP is still full. Your body is aching from being slammed against the floor, but it doesn’t bother you much anymore – _none_ of the pain brothers you anymore. What did bother you was that Sans had _cheated_. As soon as you’d LOADED, he’d grabbed you, pinned you to the wall, taken the Toy Knife from your hand, and stuck you there with a plethora of bones, leaving you looking liked a displayed bug.

                “Five-hundred and eighteen times now, right?” He flips the knife in his hand, always catching it by the handle. “You know, I can’t help but notice, you’ve gotten a lot _worse_ at _dodging_ my attacks.” He paused, gripping the handle tight enough that it began to bend, conforming to the pressure of his phalanges

                “Maybe you’re just faster,” you suggested snidely, shifting your shoulders sharply as you tried to dislodge one of the bones pinning your sweater to the wall. The sooner you strike, the sooner he’ll counter, and you can move on to try 519.

                “Nah. See, I thought of that too. So like any _good_ scientist, I decided to try and experiment.” He stopped flipping the knife and examined the dust-coated edge with clinical detachment, though there was a spark of something deep and dangerous when his eyes roved over the chip created by striking Papyrus’ vertebrae. You had been sure to point that out to him on the – what? Third? Fourth? Try at killing him. “I’ve been slowing down my moves,” his eyes flicked from the knife to you, and he resumed flipping it in a nonchalant manner, “and you still got hit. Every. Single. Time.”

                When you didn’t respond he took a step closer, no longer seeing you as a threat without your knife. “I’m getting real _tired_ of your games, kid. We aren’t your playthings, your _toys_ – you don’t get to fuck around with us like this and not expect consequences.” He brought the knife closer and rested the flat edge of the blade against your breastbone, the sharpened tip tickling your neck. “You had no problem killing everyone else in the Underground, so tell me – why are you hesitating _now_?”

                You wondered absently if leaning forward into the blade would cause enough damage to kill you. You tried, but the bones piercing your clothes held you fast, and all you could do was strain against them. Sans immediately saw what you were doing and pulled the knife away, a frown crossing his face, making it look… _wrong_.

                “Nah, kid. You’re not going _anywhere_ until I have an answer.” He threw the knife to the far side of the hall, then shoved his hands in his pocket and rocked back on his heels, watching you. “What are you up to?”

                “Oh,” you tried to pull your mouth up into a grin, that same wolfish sneer you’d been giving him for the hours days weeks you’d been fighting, but it merely became a grimace, tried and tired. “I’m just _hanging around_.”

                Not a snort, not a chuckle, not even a damn _smile_. The skeleton remained staring at you impassively.

                “C’mon Sans, _lighten up_!” You jerked your chin towards the nearest window, where perpetual sunlight shone through holes drilled through the upper mountain levels. It was the same sunset as always – the same splash of red and orange and yellow and the slightest hint of purple as night descended to gobble up the day and move time along.

                Again, there was no reaction.

                It seemed you would have to pull out the big guns this time.

                “Ya know, Papyrus would have _hated_ those puns,” you said conversationally, and saw him tense beneath his puffy jacket and the long, dusty scarf he had wrapped around his neck. “He would have screamed and yelled at them, don’t you think?” You shifted your expression, turning it into one of false kindness and humor. “He’s not a very _punny_ skeleton, is he?” One of Sans hands had moved to tangle in his scarf, phalanges nearly poking holes through the worn fabric. “Oh, I’m sorry – he’s not a very punny _pile of dust_.”

                The bone was so fast you didn’t see it coming, you merely felt it as it pierced your pericardium sac and dug deep into the muscles of your heart. You gave him a satisfied grin as your HP began to rapidly deplete, the poison or karma or _whatever_ effect his magic carried draining it faster the longer the bone was lodged in your chest.

                “519.”

 

* * *

 

                You dodged his time, immediately avoiding his bones and keeping a tight grip on your knife as you skipped away from the save point. Apparently all pretense was gone now – he was no longer pretending to be the daft skeleton who teased you about how many times he’d managed to kill you. Instead he did his best to immediately pin you down, his eye flashing like a broken strobe light between yellow and blue as he threw wave after wave of bones at you.

                “Why?” He demanded as he threw his attacks, dodging your retaliations and using his ‘short-cuts’ to dart around the hall, back to his normal speed – or was he faster than ever, now? Still he was throwing more and more attacks, waves of bones marching in sync as they rose and fell, forcing you to skip and jump and twist out of the way.

                “Why not!” You yelled back cheerfully, slashing at an approaching bone with your toy knife, shattering it before it could do you any harm.

                “What do you get out of this?” He teleported right behind you, and you spun to slash at him but he was gone again. “What do you get out of dying over and _over_ and _OVER_ again?”

                You paused in your turn, and were nearly steamrolled by a wall of bones. Barley managing to dodge, you avoided the last few bullets of his attack and turned to face him, standing on the far side of the battlefield, staring at you with an odd expression – anger, yes, fury, but also a desperation to know _why_ he was being forced to be your executioner over and over and over again.

                “Don’t you get it, Sans?” You let loose a hopeless, bleak laugh, and could see his shoulders and spine tense up at the sound.

                “I _deserve it!”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You ever wake up in a bad/sad mood, remember you had a heart-wrenching fic you were halfway done with, and decide to finish it? Welp, here's what happens when you do!
> 
> Please review or leave a kudos, just let me know what you think! There will be more, I promise, and there will be angst and sadness and (eventually) cuddles!
> 
> Cheers!


	2. Dance With Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Deep conversations between bouts of violence and void.

_1 2 3_

_1 2 3_

_1 2 3 step left duck twirl turn back to first_

_1 2 3_

_1 2 3 bow twist step back duck jump lift leg back to first_

_1 2 3_

_1 2 3_

_1 2 3_

_12 3_

_12 3_

_123_

_123_

_123123123twistturnjumpleaptwistduckliftlegfallbacktofirst123123123_

_123123123stepleftstepleftjumpbacktwistslashbacktofirst123123123_

_123123123misteptwistanklefallfallfallimpaledbloodfallingbacktofirst123_

_123bleedgaspscreampaindie123_

_123backtofirst123_

_123backtofirst123_

_1_

_2_

_LOAD_

* * *

 

It was a dance, a waltz, the two of you had perfect. Half steps and leaps and twirls all enacted with mechanical precision as you threw yourself into his attacks and he tried, at the last moment, to veer them away or vanish them all together. You insulted his brother, screaming obscenities about the taller skeleton, lies and swears and anything that came to mind in order to rile up your opponent. When those began to lose their edge, repetition dulling the sting, you began to insult Toriel, Undyne, Alphys, Grillby – anyone you could think of.

You told Sans they never loved him – you told Sans they hated him, loathed him, saw him as a burden and an annoyance. He grew furious, attacking with extra fervor when you managed to hit a non-existent nerve. It wouldn’t be until you were lying on the floor, trying to pull air through pincushion lungs, that he would realize he’d played into your hands once again, given you your just deserts despite his initial reluctance.

You would LOAD, and the dance would start again, your partner reluctant but unable to shed his duty as Judge of the Monsters. He caught you a few times, snagging you with his blue magic, holding you in place until you managed to impale yourself, whether on one of his bones or with your own knife. He would yell and swear and try to stop the bleeding, but your already fragile SOUL would shatter at the lightest of touches. It reminded you of something you’d read on your way through the Underground – intent was _everything_ in a battle. If you had no intent to harm a monster, you could do no damage. If you meant to kill them, however, then you had all the power in your hands. Apparently that power worked even when the one you wanted to kill was yourself.

Death 600 came and went, followed by many more. Sans became harder and harder to enrage each time – some LOADs would begin and you’d see the set of his jaw, the grit in his teeth, and know it would be a difficult battle. You were _determined_ , however – _determined_ to be punished for what you had done, what you had allowed yourself to become. The numbers ticked upwards, passing the feared 666 with a snide ‘demon’ comment from Sans before you skewered yourself on your knife. 667 came, and Sans turned you blue before you could register what had happened.

“Alright, enough of this,” he growled, blue engulfing your knife and tossing it aside. A crook of his finger reeled in his magic, dragging you towards him. “Look, kid, I dunno _why_ you think this is helping anything, but it _ain’t_. You aren’t even _trying_ ta’ win anymore.”

You cackled, though the sound was strained – despite the LOADs, your throat was raw and sore from screaming and sweating and not having enough water. You licked your lips, wondering whether he would give you a chance to grab the spider cider from your inventory and take a sip, then decided it was a lost cause.

            “Sans,” your voice was much too rough to ever be considered intimidating, “You know what I’ve _done_. You should be _happy_ about this! I’m getting what I deserve, aren’t I?” You were dangling a foot or so off the ground and allowed your body to droop a bit, relaxing your shoulders and wondering if some healing food would help the knots of tension in your neck. “You’re the ‘judge’, aren’t you? Toriels books said something about an ‘insightful monster being appointed as the judge of Monsterkind.’ That’s you, right?”

            He didn’t answer, but there was a spark of surprise deep in those eye sockets, which had become dulled by death after death after death. That was enough of an answer for you.

            “Aren’t you happy?” You asked, swaying slightly as his grip wavered. “I could see it, the first time you killed me – you were _overjoyed_ that I was dead! You _want this_ , just as much as _I_ do!”

            “No.”

            “What?” You weren’t surprised by the answer – a good person like Sans wouldn’t revel in the death of another, no matter how you tried to spin it. And Sans _was_ a good person – the best kind of person.

            “No. I am _not_ enjoying this – I am not getting _any_ satisfaction out of this.” He lowered you, slowly, until your feet touched the ground. “This isn’t _punishment_ , kid. This is _torture_ , for you _and_ me.” His eye pips had gone out, leaving only black sockets pitched with exhaustion to watch you.

            “But this is what I deserve!” You chirped, trying to keep your happy demeanor despite the faltering of your SOUL in your chest. “You’re the Judge, you should know this!”

            “Kid,” was it your imagination, or did his voice sound _pained_? “If you’re trying to atone for what you did, you’re doing it all wrong.”

            You shook your head and clucked your tongue at him. “Sans, Sans, Sans,” you chided, like a disappointed mother addressing a misbehaving child. “I _killed_ over a hundred Monsters. A _mere_ six-hundred deaths aren’t anywhere near enough to make up for that.”

            “What, you think dying over and over again is gonna make them forgive you?”

            “No!” You laughed, a slightly hysterical edge to it. “They’ll _never_ forgive me, Sans! I don’t _deserve_ forgiveness! I deserve _pain_ and _death_ and nothing else!”

            The eye pips had returned, slightly widened in surprise at your admittance. “Kid, _nobody_ deserves this.”

            “Exactly,” you nodded sagely, as though he’d figured out the secret to the universe, life, and everything. “I’m _nobody_ , and I deserve this.”

            The blue magic around your SOUL faded, and you lashed out instinctively. Sans didn’t move – didn’t even _flinch_ as you landed a punch to the side of his face. His head rocked to the side a bit, but his passive expression didn’t change. You waited, watching his HP bar with anticipation, but nothing changed – it remained full, despite the hit.

             “Heh,” Sans didn’t move his head, keeping it tilted ever so slightly to the side, but his pupils moved to gaze at you. “I knew it.” When you just looked shocked, a chuckle rumbled from deep in his chest. “You’ve lost your intent, kid.”

            Your gaze flickered from the HP meter to his smug smile, and you wished you had the guts to try smacking it off his face once more.

            “So why’d you do it, kid?” Sans shoved his hands in the pockets of his hoodie, seemingly completely at ease now. “Why kill everybody? Most o’ the monsters you met weren’t even _dangerous_. Why’d you kill ‘em?”

            “Papyrus.” You frowned at him, still trying to puzzle out why he was alive despite your hit. “You want to know why I killed Papyrus.” He didn’t rise to the bait, merely lifting a bone brow. This situation as rapidly spiraling out of your control, and you needed to get it back on track – back on script. Back to familiar, bloody territory.

            You forced a cackle and leaned forward, your facial muscles trying to recapture the confident smirk you’d had in the earlier fights. “I killed Papyrus,” the words tasted like dust and red on your tongue, “because he was _in my way_.” You spat on the floor, trying to get the phantom taste out of your mouth.

            Quick as lightning, Sans hand was around your throat. The large skeletons palm and fingers easily encased your throat, cutting off what air you could pull in. His left eye had flared with the familiar strobing blue and yellow light that heralded a bad time.

            “You think you can spit on my brother’s name?” He demanded. You opened your mouth to explain, to say that your throat hurt, your mouth was dry, but just as quickly snapped it shut. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it? You were back on script.

            So the wolfish smile emerged before shifting to an aloof expression, and you rolled your shoulders as well as you could in a careless manner. “Why does it matter?” You asked. “You obviously don’t care about him.” His fingers began to tighten, and your vertebrae began to crack in protest. “After all, if you had, you wouldn’t have waited until _now_ to kill me.”

            The crack of your neck breaking was oddly satisfying. Sans held you there, watching as your body went limp beneath his fingers. You could no longer feel anything below his hold – he’d paralyzed you from the neck down.

            “You want your judgement, fine,” he growled, patience with the game worn thin. “I judge you to be a _demon_.” His grip began to tighten once more, and your already failing lungs fluttered painfully as what air they could pull in was blocked. “You want to repent for your sins? Don’t LOAD this time.”

            He dropped his hand, though his magic kept you suspended. Before you could even try to get your voice box to work, a broken bone, razor sharp on one end, shot up from the ground and impaled you straight through the chin, traveling through your mouth and nose to pierce your brain before emerging through the top of your skull.

            Familiar blackness fell on you like a heavy cloak, surrounding you as your body was left behind in the hall, at the feet of an impassive Sans. For some reason, your SOUL felt a bit lighter than all the other times you’d arrived here – perhaps it was because Sans had, finally, passed judgement on you? He’d told you what to do – he’d said not to LOAD. Your eyes barely skimmed over the floating button that spelled out the word, then turned your back on it. If that was how you could atone, then you wouldn’t LOAD. You would stay here in this darkened void forever to make up for what you’d done.

            Minutes, days, or hours could have passed – time moved lightning fast at the same time it dragged by like an out-of-shape snail, and was impossible to measure. You kept your back to the LOAD button, resting in the darkness and wondering if a demon like you were fated to stay here forever. Was there no heaven or hell for you to move on to? Perhaps you were in Limbo, and would remain here for all of eternity.

            It wasn’t until the new button was fully formed that you noticed it. It was the same as the LOAD button, all capital lettering in an obnoxious yellow-orange color that made you think of pasta and action figures and tall figures in the fog. Boredom drove you to approach it, and your mind justified that it wasn’t a LOAD, whatever it was. Sans had forbidden you to LOAD, but he’d never said anything about this.

            You still hesitated, before deciding that you couldn’t do more in the void than wait to rot away, and that was no way to make up for what you’d done. So you pressed the button and, as the world dissolved around you, hoped you’d done the right thing.

            After all, what could be bad about a RESET?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it wasn't obvious, this is Frisk's first run through - they've only used SAVE and LOAD, and have never RESET before. I wonder what will happen when they wake...
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and bookmarks, y'all! I'm glad to see people are enjoying the angst! There will be a bit more fluffiness beginning in the next chapter, promise! Thanks so much for the reviews - I read and cherish each one!
> 
> Cheers!


	3. Explanations, Sort Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flowey answers some questions, and an uncomfortable meeting ends with more questions then before.

            Without opening your eyes, you could tell you were outside of the Void. The Void didn’t taste like dust and dirt and the color red. It didn’t smell like freshly-snapped plant stalks and sickly-sweet nectar from torn petals. It didn’t echo with the sound of far distant birds calling for one another over the echo of running water and whistling breezes.

            You scratched at the surface beneath you, fingers digging into soft dirt and small rocks. You opened your eyes slowly, squinting at the slim spots of light that managed to filter through the cave above. It bounced off the bright yellow petals of the flowers that swayed around you, creating a spotlight in the center of the small cave you’d fallen into.

            As you sat up, the flowers rustled and bobbed their heads. You winced when you saw the ones you’d crushed in your fall, and you did your best to straighten the bent stems. This seemed faintly familiar – something about this cave, these flowers, was tugging at your memory, dragging you back through your time in the Underground.

            It wasn’t until another yellow flower pushed its way through the dirt and gave you a fanged smile that you remembered.

            “Howdy, friend!”

            This was where you had first ~~jumped~~ fallen into the Underground, the same flowerbed where you’d landed days weeks months before.

            “Hey, are you listening to me?”

            But this didn’t make any sense – you’d left the Ruins far behind when you started your ~~slaughter~~ trek through the Underground, after spending one night with Toriel. Why had the Void dropped you here? Everyone in the Ruins was dead.

            “HEY!”

            A sharp sting to your cheek brought you from your worries, and your eyes darted to meet the flowers.

            “Flowey? What’s going on, how did I get back here?” You shifted to kneel in front of the bobbing bud. “Last I remember I was in the castle with Sans…”

            The monster tilted his head to the side, angelic smile in place. “You mean you don’t know…?” He laughed, a high trill that thoroughly unsettled you. “Hahaha! That’s _hilarious_!” His leaves wrapped around his stem as he leaned forward and cackled, tears springing to the corners of his eyes. “You don’t even know what you did!”

            “No, I don’t,” you snarled, “so why don’t you tell me?”

            He actually winced a bit at your words, drawing back slightly as he straightened. “You _RESET_.”

            “I know that,” you muttered, remembering the button you’d pressed in the Void. “But what did it _do_?”

            “It sent you back!” Flowey smirked, looking delighted at your confusion. “Back in time, to the beginning of your time in the Underground!”

            Your SOUL stuttered and almost stopped at the words. “Wha – what?”

            The flower giggled in delight at your reaction. “You RESET, and that means you went back! You RESET the Underground to how it was just when you fell!” He wiggled his stem, drinking in your growing distress. “Everyone you hurt – everyone you _killed_ – they’re all alive again, without any memory of what happened. It’s like you’ve never been here before!”

            “Then how do _you_ remember?”

            “ _I’m_ a special case.” Flowey preened, looking proud of himself. “But nobody else will remember, just us two!” He dragged a vine up through the dirt, clutching something silver and shiny. “Now, you can do it all over again!”

            The sight of the toy knife, grasped in his vines, shiny and unused, free of dust, swept away any doubts you had that you’d gone back in time. There was no nick where you’d hit Papyrus – no mix of blood and dust on the handle. It was clean, meaning you’d never spilt any monsters dust.

            Flowey thrust the knife at you hilt-first, obviously expecting you to take it. He watched in confused surprise as you scrambled back, bile rising to burn your throat. You leaned to the side and let go, splattering the flowers with acidic bile and chunks of half-digested granola bars. The very sight of the knife twisted your insides into knots.

            “No,” you gasped, wiping sick from your lips with the back of your hand. “No. I’m not – I’m not touching that _thing_.” You couldn’t even bring yourself to even _look_ at the knife. “Never. Never again.”

            “Aw, why not?” The flower popped up right in front of you, bobbing happily but without the knife. “Wasn’t it _fun_? Wasn’t it _fulfilling_? Wasn’t it _necessary_?”

            “No,” you snapped, shutting your eyes and breathing harshly. “It wasn’t fun. It wasn’t _necessary_. Just because I was scared didn’t mean I had to attack!” You swallow hard, wincing at the burning feeling that trailed down your throat. “I – I was _wrong_. I was – I was a _monster_.” You cringed when you met his intense gaze, wrapping your arms around yourself. “I won’t do it again.”

            The flower snorted, bringing the knife into your line of sight again. You slammed your eyes shut and twisted your head away.

            “Now, now, don’t like to yourself,” he chided in a grown tone of voice. “You know you _loved it_.”

            “No! No, I didn’t, I didn’t love it or like it at all, I was – I was –“

            “You _were_? You were _what_? Angry? Vengeful? Defending yourself?”

            _“SCARED!”_

            The flower leaned back in surprise at your outburst, though he quickly regained himself and began to cackle. “Hah! You were _scared_? Then why did you kill _Toriel_? Why did you kill _Papyrus_? Why did you kill all the innocent little monsters who just wanted to talk or joke or share some news?”

            A vine prodded the bottom of your chin, twisting your head to face him. “What about the Whimsuns? What about the Migsop? Lesser Dog? The Temmies? Monster Kid? Shyr-“

            “ _SHUT UP!_ ” You scrambled away from him, yanking away from his vines and the waving knife in his root. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m not going to do it again! I’m _sorry_!”

            Silence, aside from a rustling of petals and leaves as Flowey moved. You leaned over your knees, tangling your fingers in your hair. “I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m _not_ going to hurt anybody not again never again I’m _sorry sorry sorry-_ ”

            “My child?”

            Oh god, not her. Please. Not her. Your SOUL stopped alongside your heart as every muscle in your body seized, going stiff as a board. A gentle hand touched your hair, large paw pads brushing over your fingers.

            “You’ve been sick. Did you hit your head?” The hand moved to cup your cheek, gently tilting your face. “Come now, open your eyes. I need to see them.”

            You swallowed hard but did as she asked, thinking you were as prepared as you could be. You did not expect the abrupt drop of your gut at seeing Toriel alive and whole kneeling in front of you. You didn’t expect the sudden rush of fondness followed by the lingering taste of horror at what you’d done.

            It was all the same – the same gentle almond-shaped eyes, the same elegant curve along her muzzle as she smiled, the same worry and kindness etched into the lines of her face.

            “Oh my child, it looks like you have hit your head,” she smoothed back your hair, and when her hand came back there was a smear of blood on the fur. When you just stared, struck by the fact that she was _living breathing here not dust not dust not DUST but ALIVE_ her smile stretched into an understanding expression. “There’s no need to be afraid,” she tried to comfort you, moving her hand to rest against your back, “I may look frightening, but I will not hurt you, I swear it.”

            _And I won’t hurt you_ , you told yourself firmly while nodding to show you’d heard her.

            “Please, allow me to heal you.” She shifted, tucking her skirt beneath her knees more properly before cupping your face in both hands. “You have quite the bad cut on your head – it needs to be healed.”

            Funny, she hadn’t healed you last time. Then again, she’d found you in the midst of a battle with Flowey – everything had moved rather quickly after that, and your memories were clouded by dust and death.

            “Child?”

            You jolted, realizing you’d left her without an answer. Hesitantly, you nodded, and it brought a bright smile to her face.

            “Alright, this will feel strange, but it will not hurt,” she assured you, moving one hand to rest on top of your head, where you’d hit it on your fall down. The monster candy you’d taken from the bowl a few rooms away had healed it in your first run. This healing magic felt much, _much_ different.

            It was a warm wash that felt and smelt like fresh baked apples and the color green. Unlike the quick, sharp pain provided by the candy, this felt more personal, more concrete. The warmth washed over you like a warm hug from a loving parent, a warm blanket fresh from the dryer, a whispered compliment from the one you desired most.

            All too soon her hand withdrew, and all your energy went with it. You opened your eyes, blinking up at her as you slumped a bit among the flowers. The pain you’d hardly noticed was there had left, though your thoughts were just as clouded as before.

            “-ild? Child?”

            You blinked, pushing away the clouds to bring her face into focus. The goat was looking down at you with worry and, oddly enough, affection.

            “I am sorry I did not warn you,” she rested a hand on your shoulder, keeping you from falling over into the plants. “Healing can sap your energy – in encourages your body to heal itself and speeds up the process, so you lose all that energy at once.”

            You tilted a bit more, and her other hand came up to catch you. “Oh dear, perhaps I overdid it,” she muttered, pulling you against her side and letting you rest there. She rested an arm along your shoulders and ran her fingers through your hair. You breathed deeply, taking in the scent of fire and butterscotch and clean clothes and decidedly _not_ dust.

            You didn’t know how long you sat beside her, taking in her scent and listening to her breathing. You didn’t know exactly what had happened when you hit the RESET button, but it had brought back Toriel. Had it brought back the others too? Papyrus? Undyne? Would – would Sans remember? He seemed to remember whenever you did a LOAD, would he remember through this RESET thing?

            Would he still try to kill you?

            You fell asleep with the taste of bone and blue on your tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay! Goatmom is back! Also some insight into why you started the last genocide run, and Flowey being an instigator, as always. 
> 
> Thanks so much for your comments and kudos, I'm happy to see people are interested in this idea. I'd appreciate any insight on this chapter as well! Or even just a 'good job' makes my day.
> 
> Also: HAPPY FOURTH OF JULY! Or, HAPPY BELATED CANADA DAY!
> 
> Cheers, y'all! Be safe with the fireworks tonight!


	4. The Music Box

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You remember killing her.

            You woke to purple ceilings and red walls. You woke to the smell of butterscotch and cinnamon mingling among the spicy tang of fire magic and the jarring scent of burnt sugar. You woke to a familiar feeling deep in your stomach, one saying that you had played this game before, a game that you had lost. It was stronger than any sense of déjà vu you had ever felt before.

            The room was dark, and from the bookshelf came the delicate trilling of a wooden music box, cranking its way through an ancient tune that made you feel safe and sad at the same time. You rolled onto your side and squinted through the dim light. There was a slice of pie sitting on the floor nearby, still steaming. Despite the comfort of the bed – the softness of the mattress, the warmth of the blankets – you were hungry, and your stomach grumbled at you in annoyance. You dragged yourself out of the bed and slid to sit on the floor, crossing your legs and settling the plate of pie on one knee. Toriel had left you a fork, and you eagerly dug into the butterscotch-cinnamon concoction.

            The pain in your head was completely gone, though a fog still hung about your thoughts. As you munched your way through the slice, you tried to remember what had happened when you went through the Ruins the first time.

            You’d fallen and been attacked by Flowey, only to be saved by Toriel. She’d led you part of the way through the Ruins, then left you on your own while she ran errands. You’d been attacked by a – what was it? A Froggit? It had frightened you, badly, drawing out your SOUL and striking you with some kind of glowing white fly it spat from its mouth. You’d lashed out with the stick you’d found on the mountain, landing a hit on its head. It had – it had _crumbled_ into dust at your feet, it’s fragile white soul cracking and shattering as you watched. You’d spent half an hour hiding in the candy room, shaking and clutching your stick to your chest, only able to see the Froggit disappearing. Had that – had that meant he’d died?

            The frog monster hadn’t looked like he’d died – he’d simply fallen apart. Had he died? Could – could these creatures die? Flowey had said it was ‘Kill or Be Killed’ down here – was what you had done actually that bad? You were just trying to survive. Was that so wrong?

            You’d left the room after gathering yourself, and when other Froggits had attacked you, you’d done as you had before – a smack to the head quickly ended them, and you were able to move on. Other monsters had met the same fate, though even as you grew stronger, the fear that engulfed you as you were pulled into battle, SOUL on display, never truly abated.

            Your flashback was cut short when your fork hit the plate, and you glanced down and realized you’d already devoured all the pie. Frowning a bit, you licked the fork clean and wondered if it would be inappropriate to lick the plate clean. Judging that it would be, you got up and, plate in hand, left the bedroom.

            It had to be late at night, meaning Toriel would be fast asleep. You could wash the plate and figure out what to do in the meantime. Confident in your plan, you strode down the hall and into the living room, where a fire was still crackling cheerfully in the grate. You stopped short when you saw the light flickering from the kitchen door, occasionally blocked by the shadow of a large, goat-like monster.

            Slowly, you crept to the doorway and poked your head through. Toriel – tall, graceful, _alive_ Toriel – was moving about by the stove, cutting up vegetables and stirring something on a large pot on one of the burners. She was humming a familiar tune, voice light and airy as she cooked. You waffled in the doorway, shifting back and forth on your feet as you tried to decide what to do. It would be easy to return to the room and lay back in the bed until Toriel went to sleep. Then again, you would have to face her eventually, and postponing it wouldn’t do any good.

            “Ah, my child, you should not be up yet!”

            You jumped as Toriel turned and caught sight of you – you’d been so busy staring at a spot on the wall by the fridge and hadn’t seen her move. The plate slipped from your hands and hit the tile, shattering into little white pieces. Your heart stuttered to a stop in your chest.

            _Little white shards hanging in the air as a SOUL shattered beneath the touch of your Toy Knife. Pained purple eyes meeting yours, disbelief in the wrinkles of her muzzle and along her forehead. A paw came up and clutched at her chest, fingers already beginning to dissolve to dust as she moved. “Hah…Y-You really hate me that much? Now I see who I was protecting by keeping you here. Not…you…but them! Ha…ha…” The last of her laughs trails off in a breathy wheeze as her lungs dissolve along with the rest of her chest cavity, the death spreading like a fungus to devour all of her form, compressing it to nothing but a pile of dust tangled within a white shift and purple tunic.      You collapse to your knees and somebody is sobbing but it can’t be you, can it? She attacked YOU, this wasn’t your fault, you were just defending yourself, it’s kill or be killed and she tried to kill you first…_

            “Child?”

            Large white paws, dusty with flour and nothing else, cup your face and force your gaze away from the plate. Indigo eyes catch your own and hold you there, grounding you in the present even as your head lolls to the side, knees weak from the overwhelming memories crowding rational thought from your mind.

            “You shouldn’t be out of bed – you have a concussion.” Toriel is speaking again, and her paws have moved to your shoulder and you’re gently being steered back into the living room. She sits in the massive armchair and pulls you up onto her lap, settling you there, cradling you against her chest. “There now, no need for tears,” she hushes you, thumb swiping beneath your eyes. “It was just a plate.”

            Just a plate. Not a SOUL. A plate.

            She moves a paw to the side of your head and presses you to her chest, and you can feel, deep beneath the soft homespun fabric and thick layer of fur, the humming of her SOUL, sending staccato beats of magic through her body, giving her the physical form that was hugging you close.

            Toriel’s chest began to vibrate as she drew in air and pushed it out through closed lips, humming a soft and familiar tune. You pressed an ear to her chest and listened, the rhythm dripping like balm onto your SOUL. It was the same tune as the music box from the bedroom – the sad yet hopeful song that made you think of children playing amongst flowery fields, of quiet graveyards beneath the sun, or times long past that still sting when thought of for too long.

            It could have been the concussion, or it could have been the panic attack, or it could have been that not even a week ago (or was it a week to come?) you had forgone sleep in order to survive the Underground. Whatever it was, you drifted to sleep with the tune in your head, and dreamt of butterscotch-cinnamon pies and soft ears and warm hugs from a woman dressed in purple, who didn’t know what you’d done and was still able to love you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys guys guys guys guys guys guys guess what! Guess what guess what guess what? *bounces*
> 
> Okay so exciting news, I got financial aid for the semester! I even managed to get a Pell Grant, which means that after tuition is paid for, I'll have about $4,000 left over for bills and groceries and stuff. Why is this exciting? It means I don't have to work weekends! I'll be off, and have all Saturday and Sunday to myself! While blocking/student teaching = HELL on a schedule, I'm going to make sure to put a few hours aside every Saturday and Sunday to work on my writing! I was so worried about ditching you guys to go on hiatus, but luckily that won't be a problem now. Yay!
> 
> Cheers, my lovely readers! I must away for my last month of retail work! Thanks for all the reviews of the last chapter, and I'd love to see some comments on this (admittedly short) one as well! It'd be awesome to come home from work and see your thoughts!


	5. Heavy Realizations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your few weeks with Toriel are some of the best, but a heavy realization leaves you reeling...

            Toriel was, first and foremost, a mother, and being a human didn’t save you from any of her mothering tendencies. She held you and hugged you when you woke up from nightmares about shattering plates and shattering SOULs. She made you soups and stews and pies and sandwiches, complimented your clothing (a rainbow of striped sweaters which she’d taken from the old, dusty closet and washed for you), and gave you books to read and paper to color on.

            After several sleepless nights and cat-nap days, Toriel deemed you well enough to leave your bed, as long as you took it easy. She still coddled you, making sure you weren’t dizzy or feeling sick, and keeping you bundled up in one of the many quilts she’d sewn over the years to keep out the chill from the Ruins.

            Life rolled lazily into a routine. Toriel would wake you with a warm breakfast, and spent the morning teaching you about monsters, as well as science, math, and reading. She’d confessed that she always wanted to be a teacher, and you indulged her as she took you on bug-hunting trips about the Ruins, or showed you how the yeast made the bread dough grow.

            After a simple lunch she sent you off to play with the other young monsters in the Ruins. The first few times she’d let you go exploring by yourself, you’d curled up in a corner down the second hallway and not moved, avoiding all the other monsters. A kind Migsop had found you there the second day and _his antennae bent beneath your foot as you held him down, knife swinging in an arc overhead and slamming into his chest. His pincers clicked as he wiggled and shrieked, but his body was already dissolving to dust, SOUL cracking like a fragile piece of glass, and the tears that fell from his eyes as he died stained the stone of the Ruins a darker purple than before_ accidentally frightened you. He gave you a monster candy and danced a bit to cheer you up, beaming all the while.

            It was more proof that nothing you’d done in the last timeline was remembered.

            After that you willingly ventured through the Ruins, exploring every nook and cranny, stopping and chatting with every monster that came your way. Whimsuns, Loox, Froggits, and even the spiders that ran the bake sale all became friends, happy to chat with you or play a round of hide-and-seek. Even Napstablook, after a few false starts, shared his music with you. The two of you spent entire afternoons laying on the ground outside Toriel’s house, beneath the dying tree, and listened to his tunes while feeling like garbage.

            The evenings after dinner were spent by the fireplace. Toriel gave you free access to all her books (except the ones in her closet, or on the very top of the shelf in her bedroom – she said those were too advanced for you). You tackled the offer immediately, dragging books of monster history and monster culture from the shelves and plopping them open in front of the fireplace, sprawling out on the rug to read them. More often than not you feel asleep there, and woke the next morning tucked into your bed, a stuffed animal in your arms and the remnants of a good-night kiss lingering on your forehead.

            You didn’t always wake in the morning – several nights you woke in the middle of the witching hour, sweating from a dream that was half-remembered but still beating painfully behind your eyes. Often Toriel was there with a glass of water and a kind word, soothing your worries with a paw stroking your hair. Other times she slept too deeply, or you cried too softly, and you were left to hug the stuffed creature to your chest as you talked yourself out of your panic and pretended to sleep until Toriel woke you for breakfast.

            After a few weeks – two? Maybe three? You’d lost count as the days blended together – you asked Toriel a question that had been brewing at the back of your mind since you’d woken on the flowers.

            “Do you think a bad person can be a good person, if they try?”

            Toriel looked up from her book (101 Pies for the Creative Baker) and peered down at you over her reading glasses. You’d had a history book open in front of you but weren’t reading it – your eyes were drifting to hers, then away, and a blush stained your cheeks when she didn’t immediately answer. It had been a stupid thing to ask, hadn’t it? Of course a bad person couldn’t be good, that was impossible, you would _never_ be good again…

            “My child.” Toriel closed her book and set it on her lap. “Any person, be they monster or human, can be good if they simply try to be so.” She reached out and rested a large hand on your head, stroking your bangs out of your eyes. “No matter what they have done in the past, there is always a way to move on and be better, even if it is only through one small act a day.” She set her book to the side and scooped you up under your arms, pulling you into her lap and rubbing her back.

            “You are not a bad child,” she whispered, kissing your forehead between words, “No matter what you did before, you can make up for it. You are kind, you are sweet, you are a joy to be around.” You didn’t say anything to the words, spoken with unfamiliar love and tenderness. She rocked you gently on her lap, continuing to mutter reassurances to you in a hushed, kind whisper.

            “Do you think – can _anything_ be forgiven?” You asked, curling a fist into her purple tunic, wrinkling the Delta sigil within your grip. It made you feel sick, reminding you of the fabric crumpling as she turned to dust, and you released the silk and smoothed it out.

            Toriel rested her chin on your head, holding you as close as she could. Her fur was warm and tickled your nose and hands. Both large arms wrapped around you as she tilted her body from side to side. “As long as a person is sincere, and as long as they try and atone for what they did through good works and genuine words, they can be forgiven.”

            “What if – what if they did something unforgivable?” The words stuck in your throat like black licorice and maple syrup. “What if somebody – what if you killed someone? What if you killed a-a lot of p-p-people?” You had to stop and swallow hard, fighting back a whine that wanted desperately to leave your throat.

            The goat was silent for several moments, and you were sure that you’d gone too far – revealed too much. Now she would know you were nothing more than a disgusting murderer, no better than the human warriors and mages that forced the monsters down into the mountain.

            “I think…that a person would have to work very, very hard to be forgiven for killing another.” Toriel hummed between her words, the deep vibration pulsing through her chest and clothing to your own chest, and your SOUL soaked up the tuneless song like a flower drinking water.

            You didn’t say anything to that – there wasn’t anything you _could_ say. Toriel held you and hummed until you began drifting off. Faintly, like through a fog, you felt her tuck you into bed and leave a kiss on your forehead before she departed for her own rest.

            Despite the drowsiness that had taken over, you didn’t sleep that night, your mind overtaken with thoughts of how you would work to atone for your sin. By dawn you had come to a conclusion: in order to truly make up for what you’d done, you’d have to leave the Ruins.

 

* * *

 

            It took you two days to gather the courage to ask Toriel to show you the way out of the Ruins. Just like the first time, she set her book aside and rushed to the basement, warning you not to follow. You followed.

            She tried to scare you away with stories of what Asgore and the other monsters would do if they found you. She begged with you to go upstairs. She told you that you could be happy there, safe with her, learning and growing. When you still refused to go back, she did what you had been dreading – she pulled out your SOUL and engaged you in battle.

            “Toriel, _please_ ,” you begged as the goat woman stood before the door, blocking your way, flames crawling along her arms and shoulders. “I don’t want to fight you. I have to leave! I have to - I have things I have to do. Please…”

            “I’m sorry my child, but this is the only way.” Toriel growled, trying to sound fierce but betrayed by the waver in her tone. “Please, go back upstairs.”

            “I can’t,” you shook your head, standing firm. “Please, I have to leave.”

            The first volley of flames nearly caught you. A quick sidestep and slight twirl to the side left you feeling only the hot gasp of air as it was heated far too fast. It was followed by a swipe of Toriel’s paw, moving to cuff you, so different from the gentle pats and strokes she’d given you only the night before. Her claws caught you on the shoulder, sending you to the ground. You caught yourself, grunting painfully as your wrist twisted unnaturally.

            “Just go back upstairs,” Toriel demanded, shift and tunic flapping in the breeze created by the waves of heat in her hands.

            “Toriel,” you tried to speak again, but was forced to roll out of the way as several more fireballs struck the ground in front of you. For the first time this – what had it been called? Right, a ‘Reset’ – for the first time this Reset, you were regretting not picking up the knife Flowey had thrown at you. Toriel wasn’t going to let you go – she was going to kill you; just like she’d tried to do last time. Despite trying to be good and kind, you were going to die before even reaching Snowdin.

            Another volley of flames brushed over you, catching your sweater and singeing the sleeves. You quickly beat out the flames, patting your hands frantically against the blue and purple wool to extinguish them. Before you could move out of the way, another wave of flames approached. You shut your eyes and cringed, waiting to be roasted alive. Would it hurt as much as being speared by bones? You were about to find out.

            Any minute now.

            Any second.

            Any moment.

            The heat from the flames brushed you even as they missed, moving like frantic falling stars to avoid hitting you. You opened an eye and watched as Toriel half-heartedly threw another wave of fire balls, only to twitch her fingers and wrist at the last second and direct them away, narrowly missing you. She was _forcing_ her attacks to miss. She didn’t want to _hurt_ you.

            She _never_ wanted to hurt you.

            It was like a black hole had opened up in your gut – not only your stomach dropped, but your heart, your lungs, your pancreas – all of it fell out of sync as you came to a startling, disheartening realization: Toriel would never have truly hurt you.

            There had been no reason to kill her in the last timeline.

            Your fear had over ridden your common sense, and the dulling of your Soul to the screams of those you killed had destroyed what mercy you held. But still – the kind goat woman who had given you shelter and rest and food had tried to protect you, and you’d killed her. There was no excuse for it. A roaring began in your ears, accompanied by an overwhelming lightheadedness, as you realized Sans had been right in all the names he called you.

            You were a murderer. A killer. A genocidal maniac.

            A _monster_.

            Toriel pushed your Soul back into your chest and spoke to you, soft words that were half-heard through the static in your head. She knelt down and gave you a long hug, still speaking. Then she stood and left, trailing down the long hallway to the Ruins, leaving the door wide open for you to continue on to Snowdin.

            Once she was gone, you buried your head in your knees and began to sob.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we begin to move on, towards Snowdin. Will Sans remember? Will he forget? Will he be a jerk or a kind, understanding fellow? All that and more coming up in Primum Non Nocere! I'm surprised nobody's mentioned the chapter title yet. Hmmm....
> 
> Thanks for all the comments, I appreciate and love every one!
> 
> Cheers!


	6. You Are Now Leaving the Ruins

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snap crackle pop.

            Something sharp was poking you in the hip. You lifted your head from your knees, just enough to see, and glanced down to see if you’d sat on a rock. Through blurred eyes you could see something thin and silver pressing against the fabric of your shorts, held by something green. Were you being attacked by a snake monster?

            Instinctively you jerked away, nearly tumbling over onto your side in your haste to get away. Using your sleeve, you wiped at your eyes, clearing your vision, and focused on the wiggling silver and green line.

            It was the Toy Knife, sans the nick from hitting Papyrus, held tightly by a bright green vine. A few feet away, Flowey’s head bobbed cheerfully on its vine, sunshine-yellow petals ruffling in a nonexistent breeze. Despite the child-like appearance, his face was drawn into a frightening grin, though it softened when your eyes met his.

            “Aw,” his voice had an odd doubled effect to it, reminding you of bats shrieking in cavernous pits and an old wives’ tale that ducks quacks didn’t echo. “I’m _so sorry_ , I didn’t mean to _scare you_!” He looked anything but apologetic. “But I warned you before, didn’t I?” His voice twisted into a sing-song, the echoing still there. “It’s kill or _be killed_ down here! You tried to play nice and look. What. Happened.” The knife tip dug into your shoulder, where part of your sweater had been burned away, the skin beneath it red and shiny, just beginning to blister. You yelped and jerked away, pressing a hand over the wound, wincing at the heat coming off it.

            “She hurt you pretty bad, didn’t she?” Flowey faked sympathy, peddles drooping around his empty eyes, which radiated excitement beneath the false slope of his brows. “Still, you hurt _her_ even worse.”

            You jolted upright, squeezing your shoulder and wincing when it sparked with pain. The sharp heat was pushed aside, however, as you twisted to face Flowey. “I didn’t hurt her!” You insisted. “I didn’t lay a hand on her, I _swear_ , I _didn’t_ , and I _won’t!_ I won’t ever again do anything like – like last time!”

            “Oh, I know you didn’t _hit_ her!” Flowey laughed, light and airy like you’d just told a great joke. “But what do you think _leaving_ is going to do? At least last time she didn’t have to watch you turn your back on her! Last time you didn’t _abandon_ her! What’s it going to do to the old goat, I wonder?” He wove back and forth on his stem, like an excited snake that had scented its prey. “Oh she’s going to be _devastated_. You’re running away, after all she did to protect you. To give you a home. To keep you safe and sound. What a blow! And you delivered it expertly.” He cackled. “Oh this is much better than if you’d fought her. I can’t wait to see who else you destroy!”

            The vine holding the knife retracted into the dirt, taking the weapon with it. He beamed at your horror-struck face as he finished. “You know what they say: Sticks and stones can break bones, but words leave scars that never heal!” He dove into the dirt between the flagstones, and within seconds it was like he was never there. You slowly let your shoulders droop in relief as he left, tension bleeding from your aching limbs. Before you could make yourself comfortable enough to think through his words (and possibly decide to go back, derailing his fun), a vine as thick as your arm shot through the stones behind you and shoved you, hard, towards the door.

            “Hurry along now!” Flowey chided, though you couldn’t see where he was. “You don’t want to keep the _comedian_ waiting, after all!” His voice became lower as he began to cackle. “I can’t wait to see what he’ll do to _you_!”

            The vine shoved again, hard, and you barely made it to your knees to scramble forward as it pushed you to the door. You tripped over your boots as it ushered you through the stone slabs, into the long hall that led past Flowey’s normal grassy spot and into Snowdin Forest. As soon as you’d cleared the doorway, the slabs slammed shut, locking you out of the Ruins and demolishing any chance you had of going back.

            After holding yourself taut as a bowstring for several minutes, Flowey failed to reappear and you allowed yourself to take a deep breath and force your hands from your hair, taking several strands with them. Hair pulling was a bad habit – one you’d retained after the fall. It was quick, easy, painful but hard to notice, and something people thought little of. You had a hair in your hand? You must have plucked it off your sweater or pulled it out while brushing your hair. No big deal.

            You shook the strands from your hands and watched as the dark hair floated to the dark purple flagstones, neatly blending in with the plum shade. In a hundred-thousand-million years would archeologists be looking through the Ruins and find your hairs, and wonder what kind of monster had short brown hair that smelled like cheap shampoo and was brittle to the touch? Would they ponder the economics of the underground-shampoo-business? Or would they ever postulate that it the hairs may belong to a time-altering human child who was trying to atone for the genocide you’d committed?

            If they were all alive again, had you ever really committed a genocide in the first place?

            Hours may have passed, or it could have been minutes. It seemed like time was sloughing through a thick fog ever since Toriel had tugged out your Soul for battle. Somewhere in the tunnels a rock fell, and the echoing of stone hitting stone brought you out of your strange thoughts to face your strange situation. You were locked out of the Ruins – there was no going back. You could only go forward.

            _The comedian…_

            Would Sans remember you? Or would he be blissfully oblivious like Toriel? He could remember the Loads, you knew, but what about something as drastic as a Reset? Flowey had said he could remember because he was special – was Sans the same kind of special?

            You wouldn’t find out sitting in the hallway, mulling over ‘could be’ and ‘would be’ situations. Whatever was to come would be deserved, and there was no use putting off the inevitable. Scraping together all your determination, you pushed yourself to your feet and, after wobbling a bit, started off.

            The room where Flowey would normally pop up was empty, but you rushed through it anyway, and down the next long hallway to the proper exit of the Ruins. Your gait was that of a condemned man shuffling to the gallows, but you kept going, until the air turned frigid and the second set of doors loomed ahead. After stopping to admire the masonry (at least that’s what you told yourself), you swallowed hard and pushed the door open, venturing into the blinding white of Snowdin Forest.

 

* * *

 

            There was no immediate attack – no bones flying from the dark between the trees, no lurking giant skulls waiting to vaporize you, no smirking skeleton standing there with a glowing blue eye and a quip on his teeth. Just a large bush to the left, and a path of trodden snow leading through the thick, looming trees before you.

            You waited a moment, listening for the sound of slippers on snow, but nothing came – not even a bird song or a wind song through the trees. When the judge didn’t appear, you started forward, stopping only to scoop up some snow to press against the burn on your shoulder. The trek down the path was uneventful – no monsters, no disappearing yellow pedals. You’d made it almost to the bridge when something happened.

            **_SNAP_**

            The large branch you’d stepped over only a moment before had been snapped in half. You whirled around to stare at it, eyes wide as you took in the sound, which was echoing in the trees. It sent shivers up your spine, the noise reminding you of _Sans standing over you, 300 or 400 kills in, unaffected by your insults, simply exhausted and numbed to the insults about Papyrus. He’d knocked your knife from your hand and had your arm in his grasp. With barely a thought he snapped the radius and ulna into pieces. Pieces of bones jutted out through your skin, blood slipping along them, and Sans watched with impassive eyes, faint scientific curiosity overridden by apathy._

_“Heh. Look at that. You’re part skeleton.” He dropped your arm and his hold on your Soul, allowing you to collapse to the ground. “Makes me ashamed to call myself a bone head.” A flick of his wrist and bones shot from the ground, impaling you and ending your life once again. “Heh, bonehead. You like that one, Paps…?”_

 

* * *

 

You were running. When had you started running? Why were you running again? Oh, right – bones. Branches. Snap crackle pop. You flew along the path, nearly losing your footing more than once, the stomped down snow slippery and, in some places, icy. The bridge with its inefficient gate loomed ahead, and you sped up – if you could get past Sans sentry point, there was a save point, and you could hide by the river and catch your breath.

            Glancing back over your shoulder you saw nobody, nothing, pursuing you. The only footprints were your own, leading back to the thick branch that had been easily broken into pieces. You turned ahead, and saw the very skeleton you were so afraid of meeting again standing at the other end of the bridge.

            With a squawk you slid to a stop mid-way across the bridge, feet slipping out from under you. Sans was grinning in his laid-back manner, hands shoved in his hoodie pockets, eyes lazy and hooded in his skull. The ever-present smile faltered when you lost your footing and tipped to the side, over the edge of the bridge and into the chasm below.

            A familiar feeling washed over your Soul, a smothering feeling that brought a cold sweat to drip down the small of your back. Your body was jerked to a stop only a few feet into the chasm, still within spitting distance of the bridge. You waited, stiff as a board, for the pain that always followed this feeling – the bashing into walls, the strike of razor-sharp bones, the inevitable end that followed.

            Sans hauled you up to the bridge once more, though he didn’t let you go. Instead he stepped back and lowered you to the snow in front of him, safely off the bridge and away from the chasm. He set you on your feet, but as soon as the hold on your Soul was gone you collapsed.

            “Yeesh, kid, you almost gave me a heart attack!” Sans chuckled, kneeling in front of you and resting a hand on your shoulder. He opened his mouth to finish the joke, but it died on his teeth when you recoiled from his touch, arms automatically coming up to shield your head from the blows you were expecting. You couldn’t tell, but he could see you trembling just a bit.

            Confused, the skeleton leaned back on his heels and gave you a concerned look. “Jeeze kid, you look like you’ve seen a ghost. I’m not that scary of a skeleton. What’s got you so _rattled_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I'm not 100% about this chapter - it was a bit tricky to write (which had nothing to do with me zoning out while watching the new season of Criminal Minds on Netflix as I wrote, I'm sure!). Could y'all please leave me a comment with your thoughts? I may end up coming back and editing/re-writing it after work tonight. 
> 
> Thanks for all the comments on the last chapter! Glad some of y'all looked up the chapter title - Primum Non Nocere = Latin for 'First Do No Harm' which is taught to medical students, but was also taught to me in one of my criminology courses before I switched to an education major. 
> 
> Looking forward to any comments I get on this chapter, and I hope you all have a fabulous Saturday! Cheers, loves!


	7. Ashes Ashes We All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Skele-ton of fun and flashbacks.

            It wasn’t until you’d begun to calm down, panic attack abating as you struggled to catch your breath, that you noticed Sans was gone. Using trembling fingers to rake back your bangs, you glanced at where he’d been kneeling, then lifted your head to look around the clearing. The short skeleton had moved to lean against his sentry station, hands in his pockets, a worried expression stretched across his skull. He didn’t say anything, just watched you as you sat back in the snow, your knees numb.

            While you rubbed at your knees, encouraging the blood to flow once more, Sans relaxed against the wooden counter of his station and forced his expression into one of relaxed interest. He was doing his best to look non-threatening, and you felt a wave of relief wash through you at the revelation.

            He didn’t remember.

            Oh thank god, he _didn’t remember_.

             “Sorry,” you gasped, relief leaving your voice shaky, “I – uh, I wasn’t expecting to _fall for you_ like that.” It was a weak joke, and you stuttered over it a bit, but as a genuine belly laugh burst from Sans mouth you knew it was the right move.

            “Heh, that’s alright, kid. I’m just glad I was there to _catch_ your eye.” He winked one eye (you still had no idea how that worked with a skull) and pushed himself off the counter, though he didn’t make a move to approach. Once the pins and needles in your legs had abated, you pushed yourself up and slowly made your way towards him, stopping out of his reach.

            “For real, though, are you alright?” Sans eyes moved to your shoulder, which was still faintly throbbing from the burn, though the blood leaking through the skin had frozen into itchy scabs. “It looks like you had a _warm welcome_ in the Ruins.”

            You habitually twisted your body to the side, facing your injuries away from him. “Yes, I’m fine,” you quickly reassured him, wanting to cringe when his teeth twisted down into a frown, though it was only there for a split second.

            “If you say so,” he shrugged, shifting his gaze to farther down the path, towards Snowdin, then back to you. He took a few shuffling steps through the snow and stopped a foot away before sticking his hand out for a shake. “I’m Sans – Sans the skeleton.”

            After a moment’s hesitation, you reached out and took his hand. A loud, juvenile noise echoed around the clearing, and when you yanked your hand back he snickered, flashing you his palm. There was a small whoopee cushion taped to his bones, now deflated.

            “Heh, whoopee cushion in the hand trick. It’s _always_ funny.” He chuckled, shoving his hand back in his hoodie pocket and rocking back on his heels. “So, kid, you got a name?”

            You hesitated the barest moment – he’d learned your name last time, would knowing it this time trigger anything? Remind him of the last reset? Toriel hadn’t remembered anything after learning your name…

            “Frisk,” you answered, waiting for the inevitable flicker of recognition followed by a bone to the heart. When he just kept his calm smile in place, you allowed your shoulders to relax.

            “So, _Frisk_ , you’re a human, right?” He asked, looking you up and down. “That’s hilarious. I’m supposed to be on the watch for humans right now, but I don’t really care about catching any. Now my brother, on the other hand-“

            “SANS!”

            You jumped a foot in the air at the booming voice, heart nearly stuttering out of your chest as Papyrus’s high-pitched tone echoed through the clearing. You went stiff as a board, stomach curling as he began to speak, impressive frame coming to a stop on the edge of the clearing. You could see his jaw moving, but the words from his teeth didn’t match what you were hearing.

            _It feels like your life is going down a dangerous path._

_However, I, Papyrus, see great potential within you! Everyone can be a great person if they try!_

            step step step closing the distance hand around the knife dust and blood mixing to create a gritty texture across the plastic handle that you run your thumb over and over and over again to ground yourself and he’s standing there, his arms thrown open as he speaks

            _Human! I think you are in need of guidance! Someone needs to keep you on the straight and narrow! But worry not. I, Papyrus, will gladly be your friend and tutor! I will turn your life right around!!!_

            step step step snow crunching beneath your boots step step step dust drifting from your clothing to mix with the fallen flakes step step step his shadow stretches over your feet and you can no longer see the he’d left as the fog swallows you both

            _Are you offering a huge of acceptance? Wowie! My lessons are already working!! I, Papyrus, welcome you with open arms!_

            step step step pace pace pace closer closer closer he’s right in front of you and he has his arms open and you’re swinging the knife _your knife_ because you can’t trust _anybody_ , you can’t trust a single monster a single human a single _person_ , you can’t even trust yourself but you have to _protect yourself_ , even at the expense of others

            _W-well, that’s not what I expected…but…st-still! I believe in you! You can do a little better, even if you don’t think so. I – I promise!_

            more dust on your hands on your feet a red scarf flutters in the breeze as dust spills from the holes in his chest plate and from his boots as they fall over without a frame to hold them up and you take slow shaky steps around the pile and move on but before you reach Waterfall you hear someone yelling the skeletons name and a scream of rage and you hurry hurry hurry because you can’t trust anybody but yourself in this world

            “Sans, why is it shaking like that?”

            “I think you spooked ‘em a bit, bro.”

            “That can’t be! I, the Great Papyrus, am the least-spooky of skeletons.”

            “They’re just freaked out, Paps – look, they’re hurt, and probably tired.”

            “Oh, you are correct! I cannot capture a human who is not their best – that would not be fair! Nyeh!”

            “So what’re you gonna do?”

            “I shall make them my famous spaghetti, while _you_ escort them to our home so they may rest and eat! Then, when they are well, I shall subject them to my gauntlet of puzzles in a proper manner, and capture them! Nyeh heh heh!”

            “Heh, you’re a _bone-a-fide_ genius, bro.”   
            “Agh! No puns, Sans! You will make the human ill!”

            “Sure thing, bro. I’ll do my best to _keep a lid_ on ‘em.”

            “Where did you even get that bottle of ketchup?”

            “It’s a _condiment-al_ secret, bro.”

            “AGH!”

            “What, am I being too _saucy_?”

            “Just bring the human home, Sans!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact: If your coworker has a cold, and you say you're not going to catch it, you WILL catch it. Currently I feel like a heavy doll with a cotton-stuffed head that's roasting in the pits of hell (though the air conditioning alleviates the hell a bit - pits of purgatory, maybe?). Anyway, hope y'all enjoyed!
> 
> Thanks, as always, for the comments! I read and appreciate each and every one! Let me know what you think of the skelebros in this chapter.
> 
> Cheers!


	8. A New Sidekick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You gain a new friend, or three.

            _You feel your sins crawling down your back, dripping like melting ice along your spine, sending shivers spasming through muscles and skin, shoulders twitching involuntarily away from the cold._

_Wait a minute…_

You jerked away from the cold feeling trickling along the back of your neck and down spine with a gasp, tripping over your feet as you scrambled away from it. Only a boney hand grabbing your arm kept you from face planting in the snow – it pulled you upright then moved away, to face you.

            Sans, grinning like usual, waggled an icicle at your eyes, which quickly focused on it as your brain put two and two together. It hadn’t been your _sins_ crawling down your back – it had been ice cold water.

            “Sorry, kiddo. _Icy_ you don’t appreciate my joke. _Snow_ sorry.” When you didn’t smile, his own grin drooped a bit and he tossed the icicle into the snow. “C’mon, I’m not that scary, am I?” He held up his hand – the one you’d shaken – and pressed his fingers against the fused bones of his palm. The whoopee-cushion gave a sad little ‘toot’ as the last of its air was pressed out. “Funny guy, remember? I ain’t gonna hurt ‘cha.”

            You gave him a weak smile. “I – I know.”

            He eyed you up and down for a moment, then shook his head, smile turning rueful. “Nah, you don’t. That’s okay, though – this must be pretty new and scary, huh?” His dark sockets watched your face closely as he spoke, but you weren’t sure what for. A twitch of the lips or a shift of the eyes to give away that while this was scary (terrifying, honestly – you were just waiting for the other shoe to drop), it wasn’t new, that you’d been through this before, maybe? You smoothed your face as much as possible, holding his gaze for only a moment before glancing away.

            “Yeah,” you agreed, feeling how weak of an answer it was before it had fully left your lips.

            “Heh, well don’t worry. This _bonehead_ will keep an _eye socket_ on ya.” Sans shoved his hands in his pockets and shifted, so his feet were pointed down the path. “I dunno if you heard, but Paps invited you over for dinner. Shall we go?”

            You didn’t really have a choice, did you? You couldn’t refuse, that would look suspicious, even if he _did_ admit you had reason to be scared. Swallowing hard, you stepped onto the path once again and headed for Snowdin. Sans quickly fell into step beside you, keeping pace with you despite his lazy slump.

            The walk to Snowdin seemed unreal – the thin trees passed in a gray-brown blur that blended into the snow to create a seesaw of dark and light. You focused on Sans as his cobalt jacket, using the bright color to keep you on the icy path. He glanced back at you a few times, and once when you slipped he reached out to steady you, only to freeze when you flinched away.

            He didn’t try and touch you again.

            Doggo, Lesser Dog, and the Dogi couple were passed with only quick hellos and a tossed pun from Sans. He led you past the puzzles Papyrus had deactivated and showed you quick, hidden paths in the woods that rounded the frozen paths. Your mind was still caught in post-panic fog when the pair of you reached the snowpoff field.

            “How you feelin’ kid?” Sans turned to face you, genuine concern in the lines of his face. You shrugged and glanced at the snow, absently reaching up to rub at the numbed burn on your arm. He frowned, but before he could say anything more the poff beside you exploded in a shower of snow and fur and silver armor and excited yelps.

            Greater Dog, in all his cheerful glory, wagged his tail and yipped excitedly, looming over you like a hulking, fluffy boulder. You stumbled away in surprise, ankles tangling and sending you falling back into the snow. The dog was still yelping happily as you scrambled away, getting only a few feet before running into a pair of boney shins.

            “Hey, calm down, it’s just Greater Dog.” Sans had moved behind you and was bending over a bit. He rested his hand on your shoulder, near your neck. His phalanges brushed against the exposed skin of your collarbone, and suddenly _cold bone hands around your throat, strangling you because he wanted to see the life leave your eyes, feel your pulse as it faded to nothing, hear your death rattle as it slipped through your teeth. Only the second load, only the second time, and he was still livid, still hurting, still burning with rage over the murder of his brother. The first time he’d beheaded you, with the same sweep of an arm as the strike that had killed Papyrus. Now he wanted to personally destroy you, make you writhe in his hands before succumbing to his rage._

            _His grin was absent, teeth stretched in a grimace as the tips of his fingers burned with magic. Then he was leaning forward, hissing something demented between his teeth, something you couldn’t hear or understand. He leaned closer, less than an inch away from your ear, surely to make a last death threat before crushing your windpipe between his fingers. His teeth parted…and he began to lick you_.

            That – that wasn’t right. You blinked, only to be overwhelmed by the pain in your chest and shoulders. If your lap hadn’t been full, you would have bent double to try and ease the knots in your chest, which had twisted as you panicked and gasped for breath. But your lap _was_ full – full of wiggling, whining Pomeranian. Or maybe a Maltese or terrier of some kind?

            The dog pressed his front paws to your chest, balancing his hind legs on your knees. He licked another stripe between your eyes and up to your forehead, wrinkling his nose as your hair tickled his snout. In the snow sat another dog, this one completely white and not as fluffy, with large, dark eyes that gleamed with worry. His chin was resting on your knees, eyes lidded as he watched you try and get your breath back.

            Sans was still there – when you pulled your head away from the excited (and suddenly…small?) Greater Dog, you saw him standing several feet away, teeth pulled in a frown. He looked worried, which didn’t surprise you – panic attacks could be scary to watch, you’d been told a lot over ground. What caught your attention was that his skull seemed…whiter? Paler? That was stupid, skeletons didn’t have blood. Still, something was off about his pallor.      

            Beside Sans was a familiar set of large armor, laying in the snow, completely empty and gleaming in the crystal light. You could see what looked like some kind of halter in the chest plate, which would explain how the small puppy monster was able to control it. You had to swallow back a sudden wave of bile as you remembered stabbing deeply into the chest plate with your knife, vanquishing what you thought had been a threat at the time.

            Greater Dog whined as your arms encircled him, hugging him tightly. You buried your face in the ruff of fur around his neck. He licked your ear eagerly as you repeated the word ‘sorry’ into his soft yellow-white fluff. After a dozen or so repeats, you fell silent and simply breathed, matching the dog monsters slow breathing.

            When your lungs stopped aching like they’d been used as punching bags you began to loosen your grasp. The dog wiggled eagerly and leapt away, jumping about the snow and yipping something excitedly. He dashed off to the small doghouse at the edge of the field. You sighed and moved to get up, regretting you’d let the dog go so quickly. Another whine made you pause, as the white dog pressed his muzzle down on your knee, freezing you in place with his big, soulful eyes.

            In no time Greater Dog dashed back, something clutched tightly in his teeth. He tripped over his paws and rolled to a stop in front of you, spread eagle in the snow. The monster was quick to jump to his feet and shake himself off, spraying you with flicks of snow. You blinked heavy flakes from your lashes as he pranced closer and dropped something in your lap.

            It was a stuffed animal of some kind. The white dog moved his head so you could move your knee and pick it up. He backed away and stood beside Greater Dog, both tails wagging eagerly.

            The fabric was soft beneath your fingers, with a few rips here and there in the body. A bit of stuffing poked out, and the fabric wrinkled, attesting to a loss of fluff in the past. You flipped it over and couldn’t help the odd smile that quirked your lips. It was a teddy bear, old and obviously well loved. One of its eyes was missing, leaving behind only a hastily stitched ‘X’, and the left ear was a tattered mess, all the stuffing gone. It was ragged, dirty, and torn.

            Greater Dog yipped again, jumped on your lap to give you a final lick on the cheek, then dashed off with a yelp to the other dog. The white dog ran after him, and the two jumped and tousled their way back into the woods. You and Sans watched them go, both a bit baffled by what happened.

            "A- _bear_ -antly, they took a shine to ya.” Sans chuckled, pushing his hands into his hoodie pocket. He didn’t offer to help you stand up, keeping his distance, which you wished you could explain how much you appreciated. “We’re almost home, kiddo. Once you get your _bear-_ ings, we’ll go.”

            You snorted a bit and hugged the teddy bear to your chest before pushing yourself to your feet. Wiggling a bit to get the snow off your rear and legs before giving Sans an expectant look.

            “Ready to head? Papyrus can be a real _grizzly_ when I’m late.” Sans chuckled at his own pun and began to shuffle towards the bridge once again, lackadaisical attitude back in full force. You followed slowly, absently examining the stuffed animal Greater Dog had given you. Something about it clicked with you, thought you couldn’t tell why.

            “C’mon, kid, you’re _bear_ -ly keeping up!” Sans called over his shoulder. He was already on the bridge, which was swinging slightly. You flashed him a distracted smile and stepped onto the wooden slabs that hung above the final crevice before Snowdin. Halfway across, you stopped mid-step, grip tightening on the teddy bear as it hit you. Grinning sadly, you held the teddy close to your chest, tucking its head beneath your chin as you whispered.

            _“We’re both broken.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter seemed a bit short but I like the ending. I've got until chapter 12 outlined, so expect some quick updates in the next few weeks! 
> 
> Thanks for all the kudos and comments and bookmarks, I appreciate every single one! It makes my heart sing in joy to know people enjoying my writing! Wow that was sappy...
> 
> Anyway, let me know what y'all think so far! I'm excited for several of the futures chapters, and I hope y'all are too!
> 
> Also, somebody in the comments asked about what panic attacks are like. It's different for everyone, and while I have had some, mine have never been as intense as Frisks. The italics shows flashbacks and disassociation/derealization happening when she gets overwhelmed, surprised, or triggered. She has some serious ones, but don't worry, someone important in the future will provide her with some help! 
> 
> Cheers!


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